


So take me home

by megglemuggle



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megglemuggle/pseuds/megglemuggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos has a little trouble finishing a mission, but that's okay. That what his brothers are for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So take me home

**Author's Note:**

> for a bbcmusketeerskinkmeme prompt requesting 'athos h/c brot3/ot3'. which is like right up my alley. First time posting fic, so any constructive criticism at all would be appreciated. Did I name this little drabble after a Taylor Swift song lyric? Maybe.

The business with the separatists was supposed to have been a Musketeers’ affair, as promised by Richeliu; but while the Cardinal at least knew how to be discreet the same could not be said for his Red Guards. By the time Treville had heard of the mess they had left at the tavern where the group had been meeting, all hope for the intel Athos had been trying to ream from them had disappeared. As had Athos himself.  
And so Aramis and Porthos found themselves marching off to the Chatelet, hoping to find their friend there among the men the Red Guards had arrested. They had scarcely seen Athos in a week, entrenched as he was in uncovering the aims of the separatists.

What they found there had been enough to leave Aramis speechless. No matter how much battle and blood he saw he did not think he would ever acclimate to the sight of his brothers battered and helpless.  
Athos was hunched against the wall of a cell, legs sprawled in front of him and back bowed over in the way that men do to protect bruised ribs. He did not acknowledge their presence at all as they approached, and for a moment Aramis thought he might be drunk, until he saw the dark patch dripping from above his eyebrow. So concussion then. Lovely. 

“Why the hell are those on him?” Porthos growled at the shackles holding Athos’ hands behind his back. “This man is a Musketeer and one of the best, I know you must have recognized him.”  
The Red Guard unlocking the cell door shrugged carelessly. “We didn’t have time to worry about whatever trouble you boys get yourselves caught up in. He was being uncooperative.”

‘”Take them off. Now.”  
Aramis could see a Red Guard hulking over a confused Athos going nowhere good, fast. “Just give us the damn key,” he said shortly, eyes still on Athos.

The Red Guard let out a put upon sigh. “I haven’t got all night.”

Porthos loomed into his space. “Neither do we.” 

The Red Guard shrugged and threw the key at Aramis’ outstretched hand. “Take your drunk and be quick about it.” He went back outside to the cluster of guards drinking and jeering at the end of the hall.

Athos still had shown no sign of knowing his friends were even there, eyes half-lidded and staring at nothing. Porthos crouched down and placed a gentle hand on his outstretched leg. “Athos, brother,” he said quietly, ducking his head to better see Athos’ face. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Athos startled at the touch and straightened, hissing as the movement seemed to cause him pain. But he also moved his gaze in the general direction of Porthos, which was a start. Porthos gave him a small smile. “You with us?” 

“Porthos?” his voice was mumbled and sluggish. 

“Yeah, is’ me and Aramis. We’re here to drag you home as usual, yeah?” He squeezed Athos’ shoulder and put a steadying hand at the side of his neck to get a better look at his face. Athos seemed to be using a considerable amount of effort just to understand what Porthos was saying, despite the slow steady tone. He stiffened at the movement behind his back when Aramis tried to unlock the cuffs, and wrenched at his arms to no avail, a slightly panicked huff of breath coming from his lips. Porthos placed a calming hand on the top of his hair.

“It’s alright, it’s just Aramis, he’s getting those off you.”

“Just me,” Aramis said as he put a steadying hand between Athos’ shoulder blades and moved to put his face where Athos could see him. “Alright? Gonna get your hands free.” Athos stared at him a bit too long and then bobbed his head awkwardly, eyes tracing back to the floor. 

Aramis rubbed at Athos’ shoulders as his arms came free from behind him and Porthos reached for his hands, squeezing warmth and blood into them. “Rough night?” Aramis said, slightly nervously. He had rarely seen Athos this gone unless he was under the influence of wine. He wondered if it was the men he had been fooling or the Red Guards who had left him in the state he was now. 

Thankfully a bit of Athos’ characteristic self-possession had leaked back into his eyes. He leaned back into Aramis hands’ holding his shoulders, giving Porthos’ hands the slightest squeeze back. 

“What are your injuries?” Aramis asked. Athos seemed too exhausted to gift him with an answer, and Aramis decided to wait to investigate his question when they were out of this blasted prison. “Can you walk?”

Athos dropped his head back against Aramis’ shoulder for a time before answering him. “With persuasion,” he said, trying to move so that he could sit forward on his own. Porthos grabbed ahold of his elbows and together they got him to his feet, albeit leaning heavily on Porthos, holding on to his waist for balance.

Aramis gently stroked hair away from the blood on Athos’ face and he jerked sharply to look at him, as if he had forgotten Aramis was there. “It’s fine,” Aramis said in the most reassuring voice he had, “we’re taking you home.”


End file.
